Landers
by populardarling
Summary: After being banished from their District for a heinous crime, Katniss and Peeta must embark on the deadly journey to finding the only source of safety outside the Wall. Let the games begin. AU ON HIATUS
1. Gathering

**Hey, so I'm back with this new AU fic. I've enjoyed writing it so far, and it's given me a challenge since First Person isn't my strongest suit. I know a few fics have gone this route, and I just thought I'd take my own route on the idea. I hope you enjoy!**

**I also apologize if there are any grammatical errors. I just wrote this on a whim, and though I've tried to catch everything, there are probably things I've missed. **

**Disclaimer for the rest of the story: I own nothing. All rights are with Suzanne Collins **

* * *

It's hot out.

It's the first thing my mind picks up when we leave the Seam for Gathering. How is it so hot out and it's only March?

"The Gods must not be too happy," Prim sighs, fanning herself with her Reflection notebook. My little sister looks so tired after a long night with our mother taking care of Kip, one of our half-brothers, that I want to suggest we skip Gathering altogether. I wouldn't mind. It's not like we would miss much.

Prim wouldn't want us to skip, though. I know she wouldn't. She would worry about being cited, and really, I don't want to get her in trouble for making her skip. The Keepers are always more alert the closer we get to the Reaping and Sacrifice anyway. We'd be cited for sure.

"Who would have thought the God of Fire would make it so hot?" I tease, nudging her affectionately. She laughs and we continue our walk in silence.

I don't mind. It's a comfortable silence that only my sister can ever bring.

We pass the Wall on our way and I look down at my worn prayer books as I try to count how many times I have been cited this year. Twelve, I think. Adding that on to my already fifteen citations from past years and I'll only have twenty-seven slips in the bowl this year. That's not _too _bad compared to some. Hopefully that means I'm safe from the Wall another year.

"Do you think we could stay in Town a bit longer?" Prim questions, looking straight ahead instead of at me. She always refuses to look at me when asking for something that involves staying in Town.

"What do you need?" I couldn't hide the disdain from my voice. Town has never been my favorite place in District 12. Ever since my father died and they forced the Everdeen household to the Seam, a place where all those who couldn't afford their housing and criminals who were close to being banished were sent, I've had a sour taste in my mouth for the place. No one batted an eye to actually help us keep our home, or to help feed us. They didn't bother helping me and Edvyn, my father's newest wife, feed six kids. No, instead, people prayed for our souls to be redeemed by the Gods and that perhaps the Cull would make amends for new marriages for the four women Sage Everdeen was married to before his death.

The Cull did not allow any of my father's wives to be remarried, and the prayers fell to deaf ears because how were _prayers_ going to feed ten mouths? It wouldn't and didn't, and they could talk all they want about those gods. Wasn't going to make feeding my family, clothing them, and supporting them any easier.

People in town had no sense. Hell, the people in this _country _had no sense. Prayers weren't going to get me and my family anywhere.

"I want to see if I can afford a ribbon for Acacia's birthday." Acacia, our half-sister, the first kid to my dad's second wife and only two years younger than me, was going to be turning fourteen in a few days, and of course Prim would want to give her a present. It was in her nurturing nature to want to give. "Her ribbon on her bonnet is shredding," Prim defends, already knowing we can't afford something like that.

It breaks my heart to deny my sister anything, but with ten mouths to feed, things like ribbons seem silly. "You know we can't," I say, not leaving room to argue. Her blue eyes look crushed and I try to make her feel better. A sad Prim is too much for me to bear. "We can look at the pretty cakes, though. After Gathering. If you'd like." That seems to cheer her up.

"Is Peeta making them again?"

Ah, Peeta Mellark. The boy who makes the pretty cakes for the bakery's front windows. The boy who is so sweet to everyone he meets. The boy who was the only one with enough sense to understand my family needed _food _after my father's death. The boy who I've been in debt to for the past four years.

The mention of his name makes my stomach twist like it always does when I think of Peeta, and I nibble on the end of my bonnet's string, a nervous habit my mother insists I should stop before my future husband catches me doing something so childish. "He's started his Service."

"Oh."

"Mr. Mellark's cakes are just as nice," I try.

"I suppose."

We're reaching Town now and we both bow our heads out of respect for being in the presence of men. The streets in Town are loud, filthy, and infested with people rushing about to get to Gathering before the Keepers close the doors on those unfortunate enough to be late and have to suffer the citing procedure.

The bells in the Sanctuary, the largest building in the entire District that lies right in the heart of Town, ring throughout, signaling the two minute warning of when Gathering starts. I pull at Prim's hand to hurry up, weaving through the crowd as fast as we can. We couldn't be late. I refuse for Prim to be cited for something so ridiculous as being late for stupid Gathering.

"Come on, little duck!" I shout over the noise.

I push through the large crowd on the steps to the Sanctuary, ignoring the comments of how rude we're being (_And on the Gods' doorstep at that!_), and we get there just in time. Cray, the head Keeper who is notorious for citing people with a sick thrill, closes the door as soon as my skirt blows in.

"Well isn't it the lovely Everdeen sisters," he laughs, refusing for us to pass. Prim presses closer to me, but I'm not scared of him. He's more annoying and rude than frightening, but now wasn't the time. And isn't it his job to make sure people were attending these things on time? "Where's the rest of the clan?" He pulls out a small electronic book, his citing pad. "Looks like I'm gonna have to make a lovely visit to that home of yours."

"Fine," I growl, annoyed already. "Visit our home again. It's not like you're going to convince them to come." The rest of our family never come to Town anymore. If it weren't for Prim I wouldn't blame them. There were too many memories.

He moves as though to touch my cheek but I pull away before he can. "Ain't those girl schools supposed to make you sweet?"

"Excuse us, Master Cray," Prim smiles, interrupting us before my big mouth can get us into trouble. "I have many things to Reflect on before Father Benning begins." She doesn't leave my side and I place my hand on her shoulder as a silent thank you.

The gapped tooth blonde smiles at her, bringing his full attention back to her, and making me feel uneasy. I hold onto Prim's shoulder harder, ready to pull her behind me, and hoping Cray gets the idea that I will attack him if he gets any ideas. "Got lots of Reflections?" He tries to take her black notebook we are forced to purchase every month from her. "Come on, let me see if there ain't nothing bad in there."

"Leave her alone," I spit. I know it's uncalled for. I know I'm going to get in trouble for talking back to not only the head Keeper but a man, and I don't care. He needs to leave her alone. "We just want to go to Gathering like the good citizens we aim to be."

He lets go of her notebook and lets us pass, but not before he grabs my arm and hisses, "I would be nice to me, missy. Marriage ceremonies are coming up, and I know this is your year." I tear my arm away from his grasp and flee into the Sanctuary, not chancing to look back because I don't want him to see how what he's said affected me.

Marriage ceremonies were in less than three weeks and I've been biting my nails down to the point of bleeding just thinking about them. Just the thought of being auctioned off to one of the older men in our District makes me want to throw up.

* * *

Marriage ceremonies weren't always bad. At least least that's what I got when we used to study about it in school. It was created by the Capital during what we call the Holy Years. It was supposed to show how we love our gods so much that we were willing to bind ourselves with another soul, to cleanse and protect from Evil before Judgment Day. During the Holy Years, we've been told how peaceful and wonderful everything had been. Women and men worked together in powerful fields; the government and church were run by multiple people instead of one man; and our Gods had blessed us with good crops, plentiful rain, and lots of resources to protect our new country, Panem.

Then Lucille Fawst decided to be possessed and ruin it all for generations to come.

Lucille Fawst was the founder of District 13, she was the founder who spoke with their God, God of Atomics, and grew power hungry. She and District 13 rebelled against the other twelve founders who resided in the Capital, declaring for their own independence from Panem. This rebellion of power stirred what is known as the Dark Days, where the entire country was in ruins because of this woman.

I had never figured out how one person could do so much destruction, so much damage, in so little time but Lucille Fawst did. People were starving because the Gods were not happy with our behavior. Everyone was being punished because of this woman, and her army of followers grew until a majority of the Districts wanted their own independence, as well. Then came the great Father Martin who led the country into peace, who told us about a greater God, the God of Supremacy. Who instructed the bombing of District 13 to rid the nation of its Evils, and to send a message to the other Districts that if Evil such as this became too present again in any District, the Capital had the right to rid of it.

Father Martin became Panem's first Holy Father and killed all those who rebelled. He changed the course of history with an iron fist and new laws were created to prevent another rebellion. Women took the hardest blow in the reconstruction of our country. We had to prove ourselves to the Gods again. We had to prove we were worthy of working with those who spoke to the Gods, who knew better than us.

We lost the right to choose, to live.

All because of Lucille Fawst.

Marriage ceremonies were now mandated by the Cull, a man selected by the Gods who determined how we live our lives, instead of being allowed to choose. For seventy-four years now, girls at the age of sixteen have been forced to marry and join their husbands' households, to bear two children before the age of twenty-five, and men above twenty-one were told what number wife they would be receiving.

The lucky get married to men who have just turned twenty-one, like my mother, but many are the fourth or fifth wife to husbands who aren't so idealistic on the terms of marriage. Many of those women keep to themselves to hide the bruises.

I had just turned sixteen a few weeks ago, my birthday a month shy of the ceremonies, and have been dreading the day I would have to give up the little power I have to a complete stranger who would most likely hit me for speaking my mind, who would hit me again for trying to fight back.

I hate Cray for reminding me of my place.

I find Prim sitting next to a few of her classmates and consider going to sit by myself, to stew in my own upcoming misery in solitude, but I catch her eye and she waves me over. Sighing, I reluctantly make my way to the front pew, pulling out my own Reflection notebook and prayer book.

She asks what's wrong when I sit down, but I just shake my head and tell her to start Reflecting. Her smile assures me she believes I'm telling the truth since we're in the Sanctuary and all, but I'm not. I can't get Cray's filthy face and words out of my mind.

This hour and a half was going to be long.

* * *

"The God," Father Benning gestures dramatically behind his podium, "The God of Supremacy, my citizens, has told me that Evil is afoot." Murmurs erupt throughout the Sanctuary, and I even see Prim start looking around, all startled and such. I roll my eyes.

"He tells me that Evil is coming," he continues after two Keepers step forward to silence us. "He tells me that this Evil walks around killing innocent souls, feeding off them, but we are not to fret! Evil will not prevail!" Someone shouts an "Amen!" and a Keeper escorts the poor man out for a citation. We are forbidden to say anything during Gathering if not instructed to. "As our wonderful Father Martin so eloquently spoke," Benning continues as though there were no interruptions, "'We have fought Evil and we will continue to fight Evil until we conquer!'"

He looks down into the open Creed, sending the message that we should follow suit with our prayer books, and starts to recite our beliefs for a better life for ourselves, for our souls, for Panem. I stumble along, not really caring about any of this, when my eyes settle on Peeta Mellark's.

He's seated behind Father Benning on the small platform stage the man preaches on, waiting for his cue to help with Gathering. He looks bored up there, all in his grey robes all Services require when working in the Sanctuary, and I wonder what he thinks about while up there. Is he nervous being in front of all these people? Does Peeta pray the Cull won't give him old Father Benning's calling when he turns twenty-one? Does he want to bake those pretty cakes like his father?

The grey makes his blonde locks look blonder, I notice, and for a moment I wonder if his hair is as soft as it looks. I imagine running my hands through it like I do Prim's for a haircut and maybe he would laugh⎯

I am staring too long. He spots me and his lips quirk up into that half smile of his before I am able to look down and continue with the fire prayers.

I'm embarrassed to say I smile back instead, a warm feeling bubbling low in my stomach.

"Citizens," Benning closes, breaking me out of my own day dreams. "It is not enough that we sacrifice only one dark soul a year." I shift uncomfortably in my seat, all thoughts of Peeta and his stupid hair gone, when the man's focus lands on me. I don't like thinking of the Reaping and Sacrifice. I'm not entirely sure anyone enjoys the thought of sacrificing a small child to ward off this unknown Evil. "Two dark souls will be chosen this year as the Sacrifice in penance to how many have sinned this year." What? That can't be.

I want to argue. I want to say how that's not fair, but I am obliged by law to look down when a man is speaking. I have no choice but to look down at my shaking palms and bite my lips to prevent myself from speaking.

I can still feel his beady brown eyes on me.

Does he see my resentment? Probably. I'm terrible at hiding my emotions. I force my face to calm down, thinking of Prim and her sweet laughter, to pretend I am somewhere else.

Benning's eyes linger for another moment before moving on to his next victim, and I clasp my hands tighter together in prayer. _Oh powerful and mighty God ofSupremacy..._ "I encourage you to Reflect over your sins, citizens. Men keep your women well in line, for many of our sinners are women. Women, remember you are still not in the Gods' favors and Judgment Day is upon us. Think about whether your souls belong to the Gods or in the fiery pits of Hell." He closes the book and leaves through the backdoor of the Sanctuary, leaving us to weigh in his warnings.

Everyone starts to murmur their prayers aloud, asking for forgiveness, and I'm stuck thinking over what I'm going to do after Gathering because the thought of marriage ceremonies and sacrifices seem too much right now. Think about anything, I command. Prim wants to stop by the bakery to look at the cakes. Mom wants me home to try on her marriage ceremonies' dress that she had worn for her own ceremonies with my father. I'll probably have to look after the kids again. Cook dinner. Help the kids with their Reflections.

The bells ring throughout the Sanctuary, and I say a quick prayer for Mom and Prim. Just in case there _is_ a God up there.

"Peeta Mellark is staring at you," Prim giggles.

I look up and start looking for him when I spot him on the small stage, snuffing out the candles from Gathering.

"No he's not."

"He always stares at you during Gathering," she giggles again, putting away her Reflection notebook.

I arch my eyebrow in accusation. "Aren't you supposed to be paying attention?"

"Aren't _you_?" she counters, and I really can't argue with that.

I look back at Peeta and wonder if there's still enough adult supervision in the room to talk to him. "I'll meet you outside, okay?"

She leaves with a group of her friends as I make my way up to the stage.

"Hey."

He looks up in surprise and smiles. "Hey."

Why am I up here again? "Well," I start, rocking back and forth in my boots. "Gathering was...great today. Lots to think about." What?

Peeta laughs and puts down the candle snuffer. "Yeah, Gathering is always interesting."

We don't say much after that, but I did come up here for some reason. I look around the Sanctuary, noting only two adults left. My time was limited.

"Peeta⎯"

"Yeah?"

I swallow and look down at my books. "I hope you're enjoying your Service," I say instead of...well what did I want to say to him? I get the image of running my hands through his hair again and shake my head in disbelief. Peeta and I were just friends, and there was no point getting involved in _anything _because of the Cull and marriage ceremonies.

"I am," he smiles, stepping down from the stage.

"That's good."

Biting on my lip, I'm about to tell him I have to go, but he asks, "Are you and Madge sewing tonight?"

I'm a bit surprised he would ask that in the Sanctuary, but Peeta believes in this stuff as much as I do. I shouldn't be surprised.

I nod.

"Great." The sun from the high windows shines through, dancing off us, and making us look more holy than we actually are. With the sun on him, I notice Peeta's deep blue eyes stare straight into my steel grey ones, like they're trying to reach into my soul for something I don't want him to find.

It's a bit unsettling.

"Do you need any shirts buttoned?" I ask, confirming we'll all be meeting tonight. "Edvyn just got some new buttons," I fumble, trying to make the rouse more believable. I'm terrible at the code stuff. Why do they even let me speak?

"I'd like new buttons," he nods. "I'll ask Gale if he needs any new buttons, too." Right. I keep forgetting Peeta and Gale share a room with six other guys at the Service Home.

"Are you sure they'll let you out? To get buttons," I add, wincing because even _I _notice how terrible I am at this.

He tells me not to worry about it. "You should get going, Katniss. We're alone and we wouldn't want your husband to get mad because I ruined his wife." I know he's joking, Peeta always jokes knowing it'll make me uncomfortable, but why about this? It's not funny.

"I'm not married yet," I argue stubbornly, pulling on my stupid bonnet. "And like I care what anyone thinks!" He laughs at my outburst, knowing how to mess with my temper.

"I'm just joking."

"It's not a joking matter!"

"No," he agrees, suddenly somber. "It just is." He pulls on my bonnet's string, smiling again, teasing again. "I see someone decided to keep the Evils out of her head and wear her bonnet today." I slap his hand away.

"Don't you know you're not supposed to touch a lady until you're married?" I sneer, mad at myself for blushing. Peeta always assumes my blushes are for him. They aren't and never will be. I'm just mad. He always seems to make me mad.

He bows mockingly, amusement written all over his smug face. "Forgive me, Miss Everdeen. I didn't know you followed the laws of our country so closely. I'll bribe the Cull right now to make sure you are my lovely bride who will cook and⎯" I stomp on his foot and leave the Sanctuary in a huff, ignoring his laughter echoing about the large room. Peeta Mellark is so frustrating; I don't even know why I put up with his stupid antics.

_Because he's one of the few nice boys around here_, a small voice whispered in my head.

Well so is Gale Hawthorne, I argue with myself. He's nice and knows when to shut up.

_Peeta saved your family. _

I tell the voice to shut up.

* * *

Prim is waiting outside on the top step for me when I burst through the doors, my anger pumping my adrenaline.

"How's Peeta?" she asks when I huff out a "Let's go."

Peeta's annoying, I want to say. Peeta's cocky. Peeta's Peeta. "He's fine."

"Did he say something?" Always the perceptive Prim. I crack a small smile and pull on her blue ribbon.

"You know how Peeta and I argue a lot." Prim nods, understanding I don't want to talk about it anymore, and I love my little sister even more for it. "Let's go see those cakes, little duck."

The streets are a lot less crowded now that people are back at their jobs as we weave our way to the Mellark Bakery across Town. The place is rundown, and like most of our District, it is old and caked with a thin layer of coal dust. But the windows are nice and clean for anyone walking by to admire the pretty cakes that line them.

The cakes are Prim's favorite thing to look at while in Town, only adding to Peeta's cockiness knowing the one person I would lay my life down for adores his cakes.

Prim starts to run toward the bakery, but I stop her, looking over at the Keeper standing guard by the nearest corner. "I hope his cakes are as good as Peeta's," she says as I make my way across the street.

Before his Service began a few months back, Peeta would always decorate the cakes with such precision it probably felt like a sin to eat. His cakes were always delicately painted with pretty flowers that Prim always ooo-ed at and even I had to admit they looked like the flowers we would see in the Meadow. His cakes were the only thing that didn't stress about the Gods, a breath of fresh air compared to the rest of our District.

But Peeta was Servicing under Father Benning, living at the Service Home with all the other boys above sixteen, and his father ran the cakes now. Bara Mellark's cakes all show some shape and form of the Capital's influence, though, and I wonder if Peeta was put under Father Benning's Service as punishment for his cakes. To get him "back on track."

Prim waits for me by the corner while I check to see if Mrs. Mellark is anywhere to be found. If there is one person I avoid besides Cray it's her. She's never liked me and I will never know why. Peeta used to tell me whenever I asked that the Evils had started up on his mother since she doesn't wear her bonnet outside like me, but I just hit him and settled the impression the woman was a heartless person who didn't deserve the breads her family provided and ate.

Whenever Prim and I would show up, she would yell at us, screeching how we're not supposed to look if we don't intend to buy.

Prim didn't deserve to be yelled at, so I would go check for her before giving her a thumbs up or down on Mrs. Mellark's presence.

Today I give a thumbs up and she dances over as subtly as she can.

"Oooh, look at that one!" Prim points out, looking at the purple shaded cake. I nod absentmindedly, keeping watch for Mrs. Mellark. "I wish we could afford one," she sighs, taking her pressed face off the window.

I don't like denying her anything. If I could, I would steal everything for her, just to please her in the one way I can't, but stealing is punishable by death and I could never leave her like that, having her live with my shadow of guilt for the rest of her life. I hate how we have eight other mouths to feed at home, barely scraping by, forcing me to deny her this. Sometimes I hate Dad's three other wives and their children. They shouldn't be my responsibility.

Instead of apologizing for all I can't give her, I say, "We should get going." It's best to walk away from the situation altogether. "Mom wants us home."

Prim gives one last longing look at the bakery window before following me into the gravel street.

* * *

I start to relax when we turn on to the barren road that will lead us back to the Seam, and am amazed at how tense Town makes me. Rolling my shoulders forward and back to make myself a bit more relaxed.

We have a good hour before making it home, and I'm glad. A lot of people don't like the long walk from the Seam to Town and back, but I find it nice, comforting. No one is watching me on this deserted road. No one cares, and it's always quiet. I like quiet.

"Why didn't they all come to Gathering?" Prim wonders aloud when we are halfway home. "Why does it seem like we're the only ones who go?"

We are, I want to say. "You know they haven't left the house since Dad died."

Ever since Dad had died in the mining accident five years back, Mom, Francine, and Min have barely left our house for any of the required District outings such as Gatherings and ceremonies. I'm still astonished that the Keepers haven't banished them from the District for refusing to leave, but Prim seems to think they feel sorry for our family and are being nice by not banishing them. I always scoff at this because if the Keepers wanted to be nice they'd banish the three for refusing to show their children the Way instead of feeding us their pity. I don't need their pity, and the less mouths to feed the better.

"Maybe we need to be more encouraging, show them we love them and that the Gods miss them at Gathering."

I bite my tongue. I still resent them all for abandoning us, their own children, because of the loss of Dad. Besides me, Edvyn was the only one who seemed to care about our family's well-being, who seemed to want to help feed us.

"Perhaps," I force out, my voice a bit strained.

"And maybe we should bring some of the other kids along next time," Prim suggests. "So they don't get cited any more than they have to." It's hard to tell Prim that I don't really care about the other kids. She's my only blood, my only priority.

"Maybe."

She's fine with my answers and, to my relief, starts to sing a hymn she'd learned in school, dropping the matter of our family entirely. I join in after her pestering me, and we sing about the beauty of the Gods and the hope they bring to our country. The song is hopeful and bright.

It is everything our world is not.


	2. Home

**Thank you all for reading, reviewing, favorite-ing, and alerting this story! I means so much to me! **

* * *

Our house is a hot mess when Prim and I come home from Gathering.

When I open the door to our small home a thick wall of heat hits me, and Prim and I both looked at each other in question- wondering what's happened- when I notice Mom and Edvyn in the kitchen. Ingredients are scattered this way and that across our old rickety kitchen table, making our house feel like one of those mad scientist labs I used to tell Prim for bedtime stories when she was little. The large mess could only mean one thing.

We have clients tonight.

"Afternoon," I greet, yanking my bonnet off and tossing it on the old wooden rocking chair Dad had made for my mother during her pregnancy with me. The two women mutter their greetings, still focused on the concoction bubbling over the old wrought iron stove that supplied the only source of heat in our home. In the winter time it didn't do much for warming us up, but today it felt like a sauna in here. "Jeez," I whistle, noticing how big of a batch they were making. "How many are we doing tonight?"

"Not many," Edvyn replies, stirring the pot. "We just need a bigger batch because of the timing."

I make a face of disgust and hope it's Madge's turn to help with all of that tonight. My stomach can't handle seeing all that blood.

"How come you're home so soon?" I ask Edvyn, inspecting a bowl of herbs my mother used for the concoction. "It's not even five o'clock yet." Usually Edvyn didn't finish with her afternoon customers until well past dinner.

"I'm just that good," Edvyn teases, telling my mother she has it from here. I sit down at the kitchen table and watch the two of them work together⎯ Edvyn singing her own rendition of Panem's national song in an obnoxiously high voice and Mom staring blankly out the kitchen window, scrubbing dirty dishes in the washing tub. The Cull couldn't have chosen two women any more different than my mother and Edvyn to marry my father.

My mother⎯ a tiny framed woman with deep blue eyes, ghost white skin from lack of sunlight and snow white hair⎯ is soft spoken, fragile in every sense of the word. She was raised in Town itself unlike many who live on the outskirts, and I blame her cushy lifestyle in the Apothecary for being so useless when it comes to protecting our family. Mom wasn't always so fragile, though. Unlike a lot of marriages in District 12, Mom and Dad grew into loving each other shortly after their marriage ceremony. Dad was never too hard on her like most husbands, and Mom never gave him reason to be mad. She prided herself as the first wife of my dad, Sage Everdeen, and no matter how many wives he took in after her, Mom would always be the keeper of his heart. She was the perfect wife⎯ sweet, a devout woman toward the Gods, patient with Prim and me, quiet, and knew the inner workings of running her home. Everyone always acclaimed what a wonderful wife and mother she was, and when I was little I used to pride myself that she was _my _mom. I wanted to be just like her when I grew older and had my own family to take care of.

It's embarrassing how naive I was back then. Things were so easy when I had faith in my mother, but she became an empty shell after Dad's death. Everything about her, every lie about her being perfect, was revealed when she refused to take care of Prim and me. We had begged and pulled for her to get out of bed, to try to _somehow _get money for rent and food, but she had shoved us away with such unexpected force that I still have the scar on my neck as a reminder of my mother's abandonment. Prim was crying⎯ as were the other children our household held⎯ and eleven year old me was so angry, so hurt that the only person I had left to protect me would abandon us when we needed her most, that I tore the room apart until Edvyn came in, telling me it was best to put my anger toward something more useful, like chopping wood.

"Imagine chopping off the Cull's head," she had joked, only laughing harder when my eyes bugged out of my head. I had never heard someone say such thing about the Cull before, but it _was_ very tempting to take my anger out at _someone. _

Since I was too little to actually do any chopping, I ran around our property, breaking branches off the nearest trees, and pretending it was the bones of the Cull breaking in my hands. I felt powerful at such Evil thoughts, and I knew if Dad were still here and heard the words that were coming out of my mouth, he would have made me stand on the stool in the center of our kitchen and recite Scripture until bed time as punishment.

But Dad wasn't here⎯ he was dead now, and having Evil thoughts helped a little.

Edvyn⎯ Dad's fourth and final wife⎯ became the rock I needed after the mining accident. She started to represent everything I wanted to be as I grew older. I didn't like her a lot when Dad was still alive since it was weird having her be so close to my own age, but with Dad gone six months after their marriage ceremony, and Mom and the others refusing to get out of bed, I was grateful for her. There were days I thought of her as an older sibling⎯ which was plausible since we both had the same olive skin tone, black hair and grey eyes⎯ who was helping me get by each day.

When Dad had died and we were forced into the Seam, instead of mourning over the loss of her husband and home, Edvyn started studying my mother's medical books on plants and medical procedures to get money. Women aren't allowed to hold legalized jobs in our District because it takes our attention away from the home, but it didn't mean we weren't allowed to find ways to make ends meet. Even with a living husband it was hard to feed all the hungry mouths. A lot of the women in our District took to selling vegetables from gardens or sewing clothes in return for goods or coins, but Edvyn wasn't like the women I was familiar with. She was different, and found her own way of helping keep our family alive. Instead of aiming at other women for sympathy, she directed her attention on the Keepers of our District⎯ the same Keepers who by law are required to remain chaste until the end of their ten year contract. The Keepers were rich and needy for attention, and⎯ unlike a lot of the women⎯ Edvyn wasn't afraid of giving them her attention in payment of gold coins.

Our money isn't clean, but it's money and that's all I care about.

"So how many clients do we have to get tonight?" I ask, going back to our family's second business of income.

"You and Peeta have two girls," Edvyn informs, closing my mother's old bounded book with a soft _thud. _

I frown at the news. I might prefer helping Edvyn over running the trails with Peeta instead. "Why do we always get paired up?"

"Katniss, a lady doesn't raise her tone like that," Mom placates. I roll my eyes at her attempt of parenting. She lost the right to chastise me long ago.

"I need Madge and Prim with me, and you know Gale holds the girls down for me."

My ears perk up at that. Prim? My little sister was coming with us tonight? "Prim's coming?" I try to keep the panic out of my voice. It was one thing doing this myself, but it was a whole other issue letting Prim in on this. "She's too young!"

"I'm old enough," a voice from behind defends. I turn around and see Prim is standing in the doorway to the kitchen, arms crossed over her yellow dress. "I'm old enough, Katniss," she says with more force. I open my mouth to dispute it because my little Prim couldn't go out into the woods with us. She was too little and I'd be damned if she got hurt in the night.

"You hate the woods," is all I argue, standing up to give myself a height advantage. I wasn't much taller than Prim⎯ she was getting so big I sadly realize⎯ but I still had a few inches on her. I'm still her older sister.

"That's why I'm staying in the Seam with Edvyn and Madge," Prim states in a manner as though I was the child. "It's for my training."

"What training?" I sneer, mimicking her by crossing my arms over my chest.

"Miss Prim," Edvyn interferes, walking over to my sister and wrapping an arm around her proudly, "is going to learn the ways of the business in case anything ever happens."

My mouth drops open in shock. "That's _exactly _why she shouldn't do it!" I shout. "It's too dangerous, and especially with the Keepers keeping a closer eye on the Seam lately!" I shake my head in disbelief. I cannot believe no one sees how wrong this all is. Didn't they realize what we were doing was punishable by law? "She's too little."

"I am _not_!" Prim cries, stomping her leather worn boot on the floor. "You were my age when you started helping Edvyn," she argues. I close my eyes and keep reminding myself that this was not up for argument. Prim was too little and didn't need to see that part of our family income. If it was up to me she wouldn't even know the extent of it.

"It's different," I sigh, opening my eyes but refusing to look at her. One look into those light blue eyes and I'd be a goner. "I didn't have a choice and you do."

"And I choose to help." I chance a look and regret it instantly. Her eyes are tearing up, and my sweet little sister is trying so hard to appear tough, ready to help with our family burden, and it is so like her to want to help.

"Prim..." My resolve starting to waver. "How can you handle the thought of knowing that we're killing according to the Gods? You can barely manage to see a hurt insect let alone help with this."

I can tell I hit a sore spot. Like my mother was, and to some extent still is, Prim is a healer. She doesn't like to see anything⎯ and I mean _anything_⎯in pain. She's the reason we tend to have more animals in our home compared to other households in the Seam, and every time she comes in with that innocent smile and calls out my name in her singsong voice, I would sigh and ask how long the thing would be staying with us, because besides the mangy cat, Buttercup, that all the children _begged _me to keep from drowning and Prim's goat, Lady, none of the other animals Prim rescues ever stay permanently. We just can't afford it.

"Mom says I can," Prim uses at last. It feels like the rug has been lifted from under me. I turn to my mother who has taken a real interest in wiping down the counters all of a sudden. I cannot believe her. Didn't she care at all about Prim?

"Mom, she's too little."

My mother looks up, the same blue eyes Prim has set on her face, and looks between me and Prim to Edvyn. She was searching for an answer, but I was determined to win this. For all the things my mother never did for me after Dad died, the least she could do was side with me this _one. Time_. She wrings the brown cloth through her hands over and over until I storm across the room and grab it from her.

"Tell her she's too little, Mom," I repeat, enunciating each word with as much emphasis as I possibly could.

"Prim will make a wonderful healer," is all she says, running her ghost white hand across my cheek. I swat her hand away, disgusted by them all.

Prim smiles in victory⎯ a rare feat getting past my decisions in this house⎯ and tells Edvyn she'll go read more on the procedure before dinner. I call her back into the kitchen, my hands on my hips, and ask if her homework's complete.

"You know how Sister Beth doesn't like sloppy work," I remind her.

"I finished my stitching," Prim informs me. "And I plan on doing my Reflections with Acacia and Ash after dinner and prayers tonight."

"You'll do no such thing," I instruct, straightening her white apron. "You'll get your work done and _then_ study for tonight." She smiles, knowing my suggestion means I'm letting her come with. She gives me a hug and I pull her in as tight as I possibly can, resting my cheek against her white prayer cap that hides her bun.

"I love you, Katniss," Prim whispers into my neck. "I'll do our family proud by helping. The Gods will be happy I'm taking a responsibility."

I shoo her to the attic where all the other children play. I should tell them to go outside, go collect twigs from surrounding properties, do something useful, but it's going on five o'clock and Min, my dad's third wife, would have another panic attack if she knew they were outside. Where my mother became a shell of herself, Min became so paranoid she refused to let her two sons⎯ Reed and Kip⎯ out of her sight, declaring the outside world too dangerous. I find her outbursts ridiculous and annoying. It's not like her two annoying sons were going to be eaten by a bear. Prim always frets about her, about all four wives really, but Min could stay up in the attic forever for all I care. Her paranoia gets on my last nerves.

I feel a hand lightly touch my shoulder and I turn to see my mother giving me a tired yet discerning look. "Where is your prayer cap, Katniss? You and Prim shouldn't⎯"

I shrug her hand off my shoulder and take a step closer to the backdoor, itching to get out of this boiling room.

"I had to sell it for more Reflection notebooks," I spit, never forgetting to mention how my mother does next to nothing to support this family like she's supposed to as the first wife.

She winces at my accusation, muttering how she'll make me a new one. I don't bother telling her we can't waste material on silly things like prayer caps when we have growing children in the house. She'll figure it out.

"Well, I'm off," Edvyn announces, breaking the tension in the room.

My head snaps in her direction. "Where are you going?" I ask.

"Got a few things I need at the Hob," she answers, tying the strings to her bonnet, "but I'll be home before dark. Be ready." I nod my farewell and she slams the backdoor shut behind her.

"I should start dinner," I decide, going toward the cabinets to decide what we had enough of to feed us all. A salad seems the best meal on a hot day like today and I pull out some weeds I'd found on the road from my apron's pocket.

"Katniss," my mother asks, her voice soft, hesitant, like I'm going to scold her. "Can you follow me to the living room?"

I do, telling myself it is only because it's still too hot in here and my dress was beginning to itch from the heat. Mom pulls out the wooden step stool I used to stand on plenty of times as a child, and we stand in the middle of our living room, staring down at it.

At first I think she is going to discipline me for arguing with Prim and Edvyn, and I open my mouth to refute this childish punishment when she hands me a cream colored dress. My heart jumps into my throat as I remember how Mom wanted to fit me for her marriage ceremonies dress after Gathering today. All thoughts of Prim and tonight are gone in a flash as I stare at the dress with dread. All my fears resurface as the reality that my _own _marriage ceremony will be taken place soon hits.

I swallow the ball that seems to refuse to go down and hold up the simple creamy white dress to inspect. There's nothing special about it⎯ no beads, jewels, or embroidery were sewn on it⎯ meaning the dress must be very old. The Cull had lightened up over a decade and a half ago on what type of dresses were allowed to be worn during marriage ceremonies. He claimed happier marriages with healthier children were started with a happy and pretty bride. I didn't quite get how being happy or pretty meant healthier kids, but I was never taught anything science related outside of the Birds and the Bees in our lessons. So maybe he was right on that, though I doubt it.

Peeta or Gale would probably know, though. Boys and girls were split up by the age of eight to focus on their gender trainings to becoming useful members of the Gods' society. So while the boys were being taught interesting things like economics and conflicts affecting our country us girls were being taught how to take care of a home, husband, children.

I hate school. Before his Service, Peeta would show me all the interesting things they would get to do in their Educational lesson, and I would just grimace at the stupid sample I'd have to sew for my Home Econ, or the sack of flower we had to take home and pretend it was a child. Peeta and Gale had a hoot with that assignment.

Girls haven't been given permission by the Gods to continue on with our education because look at what happened with Lucille Fawst.

Everything always came back to Lucille Fawst and the dishonor she brought to our country.

The only reason my mother knew anything medical-wise⎯ which then gave Edvyn the necessary tools on learning how to perform the procedure⎯ was because her father and his father before him was the District 12 doctor. Medicine ran on her side of the family, and Mom knew a lot of home remedies for families who couldn't afford the District doctor. She had the magic touch, and when I was still young, I used to think if she were a man, Mom would surely have taken her father's position as District doctor.

The medical gene had obviously skipped me, though, and went straight to Prim. I vomit at the sight of human blood, or blank on understanding a lot of the remedies needed to cure the sick, but Prim had a knack for the subject. Even when she was little she understood how to set a broken bone better than I could.

People would rather have sweet Prim taking care of them, anyway.

"It was my great-great-grandmother's," my mother says with the corners of her mouth lifting to a smile. To let her know I'm listening, I nod, looking at the gown again. It was pretty, I admitted. Despite the event it's made for. "Every first born daughter wears it on her marriage ceremony."

I sigh, looking down at my own frayed dress. I don't want to take off my red shift for this to replace it. It made the upcoming marriage ceremonies real. I don't want it to be real. I'm perfectly content pretending it doesn't exist⎯ just for one more week at least.

I feel her nimble fingers unbuttoning my dress in the back as I bite my lip to prevent any emotion from showing.

"I remember being so nervous," she tells me, pushing the stiff red material down my arms until I stand in nothing but my white bloomers, crossing my arms over my small breasts. "Lift your arms, Katniss," my mom instructs. I do as told, feeling like a little girl again, and I feel the soft material pull over my head. The material feels light, airy even, on my skin and I rub my thumb and index on the cuff of the sleeve to marvel at its softness.

I'm still in shock at the thought of having to wear this dress and walking toward the Cull in the Sanctuary where my destined husband will be waiting for me in three short weeks.

To think I used to think of that day fondly.

I close my eyes and pretend I'm still that little girl, having Mom dress me for Prayer lessons where we would meet with Peeta and Madge, sometimes Gale too, if he decided to go that Sunday. We would always sing the hymns we had learned afterward, and sometimes, if we were good, Mr. Mellark would treat us to a piece of yummy bread with pieces of fruit hidden inside. I remember always pressing Peeta on knowing our prayers in hope of getting such delicious bread.

That time was easy, peaceful. I wish I could go back to the age where I believed in everything I was told. It was easier to bear going to Gathering each day, writing my Reflections, praying... Everything was easier before the mining accident. Before that fateful day that altered so many families' lives.

"Katniss," my mother says, breaking me from my thoughts. "Step on the stool, please." I step up on the round wooden step stool and face the front window looking out into our meager front yard. _We need more rain_, I think as I feel the tugs and pulls from my mother below me. The grass is so dry for it only being March, and the vegetable plants probably won't do so well this season if we try to plant them now. At least the large oak tree that looks to be hundreds of years old seems to be doing well. _We should plant there this year for better vegetables this season_.

It's still too hot in the house, and I wish Mom would open the window, to let some of the stagnant air out to cool down the house. I fidget and hiss when I feel a pin stab my ankle.

"Stay still," my mother commands, her voice muffled by the pin in her mouth. "Don't move."

Memories of my father fly through my mind at the comment, and I start to murmur Heb 10:26, the one verse from the old Pr_ay_er book that I had to repeat over and over until I was crying for how thirsty I was._ "'For if we go on sinning willfully after receiving the knowledge of the truth, there no longer remains a sacrifice for sins, but a certain terrifying expectation of judgment, and the fury of a fire which will consume the adversaries,'" _I recite as I had all those years ago, not surprised I still remembered it. I got in trouble a lot as a little kid. I was too forward as a child and Dad didn't like seeing his daughter being frowned upon by Town patrons. So he would force me to recite and write Scripture until I was blue in the face and couldn't move my hand anymore as punishment.

It's comforting in a twisted way now, repeating the same words I did as a child. I almost expect my father to come through the door right now and say in his deep, stern voice, "Katniss, stop fidgeting with your hands and keep reciting the Old Scripture until I tell you to stop. Little girls need to learn to listen to those in charge."

I sigh again, reminiscing about him⎯ no matter the memory⎯ always made the small hole in my heart ache for him.

I bite my nail to preoccupy myself as Mom pins the dress in places it needs to be let in. Apparently I'm a lot smaller than my mother was when she was my age because she's pinning pins to the bottom of the skirt, to the sleeves, the waistline, and the back. I'm afraid to move now, not wanting to get pinned and all.

"There," my mother smiles, a small ghostly smile. She takes a step back and tells me to lift my arms straight out to my side. I do as she says and she circles around me, making sure the dress fits in all the right places. "You're going to be the purest bride in the Sanctuary," she prides herself, holding her red pin cushion to her heart.

I scowl, not liking the thought of the near future, and the fact that _this _is what she does to try and make up for the years of neglect. _I was sad we lost Dad, too,_ I think sourly as I put my arms back down. No one saw me becoming brain dead. I took responsibility.

"Your husband is going to need to work on making sure you smile more," Mom instructs, helping me down from the stool. I don't feel like the little girl my parents used to scold about manners and what the Gods would think of my actions anymore. I'm now back to my sixteen year old self, scornful toward the Gods and my mother. "A woman should always keep a pleasant smile on to encourage her husband to do great deeds."

"I don't care what he's going to think," I snap, already squirming around to get out of the dress. A needle pricks me as I deftly search for the buttons and I pull my hand back to my mouth, sucking on the wound. "I don't even want to think about the marriage ceremonies."

She pulls my hair out of its bun and runs her fingers through the tangles. "You are so blessed," my mother admires, and I wince when her nail snags on a strand of hair. "And I know you don't want to think of the ceremonies, but you need to. It's important."

"What's important, _Mom,_" I say in a condescending way, "is taking care of this family."

"You know we won't be allowed to help one another once you are wed." Sadly, I know that.

"Can I take the dress off?" I ask at last. I need to preoccupy my thoughts and it was getting close to the time the kids asked for dinner anyway.

Mom settles my hair so it's lying straight down my back and gives my shoulder a gentle squeeze. So I don't get pinned I carefully take the dress off, lay it on the rocking chair, change back into my dress though my sweaty body protests the thought of the hot material, and go start dinner.

* * *

It is later in the evening when we hear a sharp knock on the front door. My mother startles a bit in her seat, but Prim calms her down, tells her there's nothing to worry about. I set the quilt I was helping Prim and Acacia sew down on the floor and go to open the front door.

It's dark out, the only source of light coming from the gas lanterns we have around the living room, and I squint my eyes at the tall figure standing on our front stoop.

"I'm looking for a shirt to be sewn," the low voice teased, and the figure stepped into the light, revealing himself. "Do you know where I could find someone who's good at sewing?" I smile and let him in.

"I do," I recite in code, my voice teasing back. We both know how terrible I am at sewing.

He pulls off his black newsboy cap in respect of being in my house and smiles. "You ready to go, Catnip?"

* * *

**So I am really sorry for how late this chapter is. This story is not pre-written, and I was having a hard time deciding what I wanted to do with this chapter because there was a second part to this chapter, but it was becoming too long and I decided to split it up.**

**The verse (Or part of it) that Katniss recites is from the Bible. So that's why it's italicized. **

**This chapter's mainly a filler chapter setting up for Ch. 3, but what can you do? These chapters are needed for future plot. Next chapter does involve Peeta, though, and I do have that partially written. So I hope to get that finished shortly, and update my two other stories! Busy busy busy!**

**I hope you enjoyed it, and reviews are always encouraging (And make me write faster)- especially for this story since I'm writing it as I post. So please review and tell me what you think!**

**Also, if any of you are Tumblr users, it'd be great to get to know you all! My URL is on my profile if you're interested.**

**~Terri**


End file.
